A Change of Seasons
by Aeratril
Summary: After a series of serious setbacks, Thorin is faced with two choices: accept Thranduil's help with his quest or risk complete failure. Negotiations become tense and quickly evolve into something else entirely. Will the kings be able to hide their new "alliance" long enough to sort out its nature between the two of them?
1. Chapter 1

The young prince Thranduil had visited the Halls of Durin many times with his father. The Elven King Oropher was a man of strength and good bearing, of grace, and kindness, and sternness when it was necessary. Thranduil loved and respected him, as a son would, and had shared many fond moments with his sire. But the War of Wrath descended, and his father was slain.

When Thranduil entered the Halls a king, it was with a heavy heart. He had lived three thousand years, but no amount of time could prepare him for the loss of his father. He informed the King Under the Mountain that the honorable Elvenking Oropher had reached the end of his days. Condolences were exchanged, Thranduil departed, and over the years grew into a colder man.

It was not until he found himself again in the company of the Dwarven King that he found some warmth. His own son, Legolas, had been born, and his kingdom was prospering. He had been called to meet with King Thrór about arrangements to be made financially between the kingdoms, so that they might be better united.

He stood at the head of the table, opposite Thrór's seat. It was small, in a private room some corridors away from the atrium named the Great Hall of the Kings. He held the goblet, feeling its weight in his hand; in Mirkwood the cups were much lighter. Thrór faced a bookshelf at a distant corner of the carved room, flipping through the pages of a large ledger. He breathed deeply and turned about-face, walking toward Thranduil with heavy steps. Even in their light clothing, he noted, the dwarves have a way of carrying themselves as if they were made of the same stone as their mountain. Thrór all but fell into his chair, and motioned for Thranduil to seat himself. "Sit down, stay awhile," the king joked, placing the book on the stone table and making himself comfortable in his chair.

Thranduil set his goblet down silently, straightening his back and smoothing his robes. "I must thank you for your patronage, King Thrór, I have found myself more than comfortable here."

"Oh, quit already with the pleasantries," Thrór interrupted. "Best not to waste time making sure we don't offend each other." He leaned back, looking Thranduil in the face, his every gesture merry and entirely unregal. Thranduil couldn't suppress a smile.

"Brought you here to talk business. We've got a good mine just west of here, and she's bleeding gold. I've never seen the like. What I want to do is bring it back to Erebor and invest it in the city. Make it better than ever, show the world the true glory of the dwarves." He seemed to beam at the idea. "What's more, is that there are gems being found alongside it, these beautiful jewels. Sparkle like the full moon, they do." He drew from his pocket a perfectly rounded stone, white and shimmering with what seemed to be its own light. Thranduil stared at it, momentarily transfixed. Thrór set it on the table, right between the two of them, and continued.

"Only problem is, the largest concentration of them is in your land, King Thranduil. We need your leave to dig 'em up. Here's my offer; we mine them, and you take the lion's share"

Thranduil drew a silent breath, knowing what he was asking of him. Though the jewels were sure to bring better security to the Elven throne, and though they shimmered like sunbeams, he was sure there was a catch the security of his people came second to none. He almost immediately declined. "I cannot allow strangers beyond my borders without intent of either diplomacy or aid. I would not be able to justify the passage of dwarven miners with no means through which to regulate their presence. The elves are not underground people, do you understand?"

"On one hand, yes, but on the other…" Thrór stood and looked into his eyes, almost pleading. "Just think of the riches it could bring to both of us, King Thranduil. How our kingdoms would prosper-!"

Thranduil stood in suit, straight-backed and stern. "My answer is no, Thrór. I'll hear no more of this."

"I'll give you a sum of gold in return for the privilege of-"

"Enough! Do you really think it's the gold or the money that matters here, Thrór? You are walking into fire, ignorant to the flames already lapping at your feet. The implications of wealth are attractive, Thrór, and not only to you. Have you forgotten the plague of dragons in the Grey Mountains?" He paused, letting it sink in. The silence proved that it had.

"You must practice caution, lest your kingdom be laid low as were your brothers-

"You will not speak of my brothers!" Thrór slammed his fists on the table in anger, knocking both goblets of wine to spill and soak into the pages of the yellowed ledger. Hearing a faint gasp, the two of them turned toward the doorway to see a small child being lead away by a man Thranduil recognized to be Thrain, the king's son.

"Thrór, think of your son. And the young one he bears away-"

"Thorin."

Thranduil gave him a questioning look.

"The lad's name is Thorin."

Thranduil nodded, stepping away from the table. "I see." He glided toward the same exit, turning over his shoulder one last time before he took his leave. "Well, Thrór. I thank you for your proposition and apologize that I cannot partake in your offer, but do be careful." He faced away from the fuming king and started to the door again. "And one king to another, do not risk the drakes' fury and greed. Perhaps if you will not think of the welfare of your kingdom, you will think of the welfare of your grandson, Thorin." The child's name hung in the air as he departed.

Thranduil never questioned his decision to turn down Thrór. Not when Erebor thrived, not when it all but wallowed in the wealth their king's mine had bestowed upon them, and not when the terrible Smaug laid waste to their land for want of the gold they possessed. When he heard rumor that they had mined his grounds for the moonlight gems without his permission, he felt betrayed, and disgusted with himself that Smaug's arrival somehow soothed the part of him that would have demanded reparations. The Elvenking watched their desolation, and could do nothing but look the other way. He had his own son to worry about, his kingdom's well being, and now a dragon living but a stone's throw away. Sauron's presence was growing, and Mirkwood had become a much more unforgiving place since his childhood; it was no longer the tender Greenwood he had adored. The spiders were a growing threat, and he had no choice but to fortify his once delicate kingdom. But sacrifices were always to be made in the name of safety, and he was unable to help the dwarves when Erebor fell. He decided that they were to be left to themselves to survive, that it was their fault Smaug came. Besides, there was no way he could help them without the food and space it would require.

He managed to convince himself that feeling guilty would be a waste of his time.

By and by he heard tales of the great Thorin Oakenshield, and could think only of the young dwarf who was startled by his grandfather's outrage. He marvelled at how it only took one blow to topple such a great kingdom, to bring its smoking ruins and its death to smolder at a young princeling's feet. He could only feel sorry for Thorin.

He was surprised to hear some years later from one of his guards that he had been captured, with a band of eleven other dwarves. He immediately sent for him to be brought before him, that they might speak.

He stood from his throne when he arrived, no longer the young child, but now a formidable adult, dressed in the same heavy furs as his ancestors. His hair had grown into a mane, and he kept his beard short. Surprising, for a dwarf. Though the journey's wear on him was visible, he truly did look the part of a prince, perhaps even a king. He held out his arms in greeting.

"Thorin Oakenshield. It's been many years since last we met."

He gave only a weak, bitter glare as the guards unbound his wrists.

"I have received word of your purpose in Mirkwood, and am disappointed that you did not inform me earlier of your arrival. I'd have prepared a company for you." He made his tone intentionally condescending; he had been offended at Thorin's lack of greeting, and so far, words. He continued, walking slowly before him. "Some may imagine that a noble quest is at hand. A quest to reclaim a homeland, and slay a dragon." He turned his head to look Thorin in the eye.

"I, myself, suspect a more prosaic motive. Attempted burglary, or something of that ilk." He paused, folding his hands behind his back and moving much closer to Thorin's face. "You have found a way in. You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule." He stepped back, toward his throne, not breaking eye contact.

"The King's Jewel. The Arkenstone. It is precious to you beyond measure." He gave a knowing, almost malicious smile. "I understand that. There are gems in the mountain that I too desire. White gems, of pure starlight." He closed his eyes and bowed his head.

"I offer you my help."

Thorin feigned a smile and spoke. "I am listening."

"I will let you go," Thranduil replied. "If you but return what is mine." He paused, in wait of Thorin's reply.

The man walked forward, his back to the elven king. "A favor for a favor."

"You have my word. One king to another."

Thorin sighed. "I would not trust Thranduil,"

His voice became louder. "The great king, to honor his word till the end of all days be upon us." He turned and pointed at the him, accusing, yelling now. "You lack all honor! I have seen how you treat your _friends_. We came to you once. Starving, homeless, seeking your help, but you turned your back. You turned away from the suffering of my people, and the inferno that destroyed us. Imrid amrad ursul!" _May you die in dragon fire. _

Thranduil closed the distance between them, enraged. "Do not talk to me of dragon fire! I know its wrath and ruin." He gasped in pain as he let the spell fall that feigned normality in a side of his face that had been burned to a point past healing, so that Thorin could see that he truly did know firsthand the horrors that were the drakes. "I have faced the great serpents of the North." He drew back, now angry, and let the magic take hold once more. "I warned your grandfather of what his greed would summon, but he would not listen. You are just like him." Ascending the stairs to once more take his throne, he waved his wrist so the guards would know to seize him. "Stay here, if you will, and rot. A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf. I'm patient." He lowered his voice to a snarl as they bore him toward the prisons. "I can wait."

Thranduil sighed in frustration. Years of waiting for some way to take back the gems Thrór stole, and when one practically falls at his feet, it's not feeling up to help. The audacity, he offered him his men! He glared in the direction of the prison and seethed for a short moment. He forced himself to gather his bearings; the Starlight Festival was tonight, and he would be happy to have a distraction.


	2. Chapter 2

The festival far exceeded Thranduil's expectations, as was the case each year. He made his appearance and danced and drank and sang alongside his kingdom, as if he were simply one of them. He forced the prisoners out of his mind, as he was so good at doing, and let them fall to the wayside of his concerns. The common courtyard was more lovely than he could recall seeing it; the sky was perfectly clear. Countless glittering stars dazzled upon the sky's humble black backdrop, creating countless constellations to shine through the bountiful green boughs that hung just above the congregation's heads. Through their drinks and elation, the elves were mesmerized by the stars above them, accompanied by the full moon.

Thranduil eventually grew tired, and with a smile still on his lips, strode to a somewhat out-of-the-way bench to sit down. Lanterns illuminated his path, carefully placed on the ground tonight so they wouldn't block the view of the stars above. His head swam pleasantly and his body hummed with the calm energy of his imbibements as he gazed into the heavens, contemplating Arda. His thoughts eventually wandered to a story his father had told him from time to time, one of many. He could almost hear Oropher's voice reciting a tale that had become as familiar as the sun at daybreak.

_When the evil Melkor laid waste to the two great lanterns that lit the earth, Yavanna sang into existence two trees to replace the precious light that was lost. Telperion and Laurelin thus sprang into existence; mystery and light, beauty and radiance, silver and gold. Faenor, moved by their beauty, was struck with an idea to manifest their glory into three jewels. Thus the Silmarils were created, containing the light of the trees and the power to fend off evil, and were unable to be copied. _

Thranduil had never liked the way that story ended. Even in his youth he would scorn the wicked Melkor, dubbed Morgoth, for corrupting Faenor and stealing the precious Silmarils for himself. He could quite understand, though, how Faenor, greatest of the Noldor, would come to treasure his Silmarils so. Their radiance was legendary, and it was the stars alone which could echo those mythical gems.

The night went on and the air grew colder as Thranduil sat in his contemplation. He left the festival early, when he knew his absence was of no consequence. He left Legolas to enjoy the splendor of the holiday. He walked through the halls of his palace, almost tempted to visit Thorin in his cell. He decided that it would have to wait, that he could do it another time when he was less eager to throw insults at the Elvenking. He shook his head. A being of such potential power was filled to the brim with vitriol, and that was the exact opposite of what the king-to-be needed. He pondered that for a moment, remembering that the elves were the sages among beings; that they alone knew the turning of the ages as they did, and that all others were doomed to die as children. Thorin Oakenshield had seen fewer than one hundred years, and by elvish standards would have barely been considered an adolescent.

Thranduil scoffed. He would sooner place an elven infant on the throne than a dwarven sage; the infant would be far less impulsive. He disappeared into his chambers, for want of a warmer place to think.

Thorin held the bars of his cell, his fingers wrapped around the cold metal in a death grip. He was furious. How dare that pompous king try to speak to him as if he were a child, after all he put his people through? One king to another. Thranduil's words coursed through his mind, on repeat, and he still hadn't figured out whether he had meant them. He was not ready to give him the benefit of the doubt. He seethed silently, just waiting for him to come and try to raise his ridiculous 'proposition'. He was eager to spit in his face again, to make him feel guilty about abandoning Erebor's victims in their time of greatest need. He would tell him the names and stories and the vicious, agonizing deaths of every last person he forsook that day. He felt a hand on his shoulder, turning around to see a concerned look on Balin's face.

He lowered his head. He knew that it had been foolish to turn down the King's help, but after what he did to the people of Erebor, he could not have forgiven himself if he had not shown him what he had done. He could not live with the thought that Thranduil didn't appreciate the degree of his betrayal, and it drove him mad that after all that he thought it necessary to punish the dwarves for feeling hurt. It was as if he hadn't the capacity to feel, let alone understand the feelings of others.

Days passed, and few words were exchanged between himself and Balin. The food the guards brought them was not fit for a king, but it was generous to a prisoner. Alongside the bread and fruit they were given small flagons of wine, and Thorin could not but appreciate that they were given at least that consideration. His temper cooled, and without his anger he was left feeling like a fool.

He had lost all sense of keeping time when Thranduil approached his cell. The king was wordless, simply motioning for the guard to unlock the cell and bring Thorin out. He raised his hand when they tried to bring Balin as well, and he remained docile as his shackles were replaced. Thorin was escorted by two guards after Thranduil. He lead the three of them into an empty room, and Thranduil looked directly at Thorin. "Are you ready to speak as a prince, Thorin? Has your anger left you?"

He simply turned his head. In the moment of silence, Thranduil studied the waves of his dark hair, how it hung over his shoulders like the mane of a lion. Such contrast, he thought, between the two of us. He lifted Thorin's chin with his hand so he would look at him. "I did not ask a question so it could be unanswered, Oakenshield. Will we speak or will you choose your cell?"

In his gravelly baritone, he nearly whispered, "Alright."

"Good." Thranduil moved his hand from his face, slowly, to show that he meant no hostility. He turned to a guard. "Unbind him." They obeyed, and Thorin's shoulders rose briefly, and slowly, his arms came to his sides. Thranduil noticed that his fists were clenched, and he wasn't sure if it was because he was angry or if it was dwarven habit to be always making a show of their bodies' fortitude. He raised an eyebrow before looking the opposite way and beckoning for Thorin to follow. He lead him outside through wooden door to a carved cliff, pillared with wooden arches. Sunbeams warmed the two chairs resting before a solitary table, and the roar of the waterfall below silenced the sounds of his castle. Thranduil approached his chair, and against custom, allowed his guest to sit first. It was vital that Thorin not think of him as a threat.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Thranduil looked at the leaves shining green against the luminescent sky. "The blight, unfortunately, is still visible, even here." He gaze shifted back to Thorin, who was looking into the distance, but it wasn't the trees he seemed interested in. The Elvenking paused. "Is something the matter, Oakenshield?"

He only had to raise his head to show the exact degree of pain he felt, and it caught Thranduil off guard. For a moment even he looked sad. In a quiet voice, his hurt soaked the air. "How could you?"

Images of Thrór's death ran through Thorin's head. In that instant, something in him simply broke. He focused again on Thranduil, simply unable to be angry. He was too tired. "How could you leave us to die?" His voice cracked, and he was trying his best not to break into tears.

Thranduil felt a pain in his chest seeing the man's misery. He folded his hands on the table before him, lowering his head. "I had no choice, Thorin. The lives of my people were at risk as well, and I could not turn my back on them."

"So instead you turned your back on us."

"It's not that simple." He stopped, drawing a breath, trying to figure out what to say. "We were already facing the threat of the spiders taking over Mirkwood. I do not know what evil is upon us, but we will be facing something terrible in the time to come. I can see it in the trees, Thorin. These woods were not always so sick, and we can not help it. Our home is being destroyed."

Thorin shot a poisonous glare at him, and Thranduil realized what he had just done.

"I am truly sorry for your loss, Thorin, and the losses of your people. But please know that I was powerless to stop them."

Thorin sighed deeply, and fell silent in thought. "You… you said you warned Thrór, my grandfather. That he knew what his actions would cost us, why did he not listen?"

"Ah," Thranduil looked up, and back to Thorin. "That, I could not tell you. Stubbornness, I would imagine. I remember that conversation clearly."

"Do you?"

"Yes. He tried to get me in on his building wealth, and I declined. He wanted to mine gems from my lands, and I would not let him. But, of course," he drew a breath and motioned to a passing chambermaid to bring them a bottle of wine. "he mined them anyway. He stole much from me, after I had nearly mistook our relationship for friendship. Which is why I asked you to return them to me." He leaned forward, and then back into his chair as the maid returned with a bottle and full glasses for both of them. "It is not I that cares about the jewels, Thorin, but my subjects. The tale is commonly known here of the king who stole from us. That is why I want them back, so that when the city of Erebor rises again, and I believe it will, the score between our kingdoms can be settled."

He took a long drink from his glass, savoring the taste of the fresh berries and honey that gave softness to the wine. "You know," he continued, "you were present during that conversation. Do you remember?"

Thorin looked up, setting his glass down. He was interested. "I do not."

"You were very young then. You were lingering at the doorway, and I don't know if you were eavesdropping or waiting for your grandfather, but he scared you in his anger, and lead you away." He laughed. "You looked very much the part of the young prince. A rambunctious one, I presume; there were twigs and tangles in the hair that your maids fussed over."

Thorin couldn't help but smile.

"Your father lead you away, and I told your grandfather that if he was not going to protect his kingdom, he should at least think of you. You were so young, and your grandfather was so eager to become rich… I felt nothing but sadness for your people when the dragon came." He looked truly sorry for a moment, and it almost took Thorin by surprise, but he somehow knew that he was not lying.

Thorin Oakenshield, though he had doubted, saw real feeling in the eyes of an elf, and for a moment, he even considered forgiving him.


	3. Chapter 3

A long silence passed between them as the sun set. Thranduil finished half the bottle of wine, simply watching the world outside shift and stir with the breeze and the changing of the light, while Thorin had barely touched his glass. Thranduil assumed it was because the taste did not suit him; dwarves were infamously fond of beer and more malted drinks. He peered over at him, as still in contemplation as he had been just minutes before. His eyes were focused on some point beyond the horizon, and after some time, he quietly sighed. The Elvenking observed him discreetly, trying not to stare, but just the same taking note of the subtle matting of his hair and the thin layer of dust that still covered his hands and clothes.

"Have you bathed?"

Thorin simply looked up at him, and Thranduil was surprised at himself that he had asked such a stupid question. Of course he hadn't, he'd been in a cell for the past week.

"My apologies, Thorin. I suppose the better question would be if you would like a bath prepared for you. And a meal, for that matter."

"I can't refuse." Thorin, still weary from the entire ordeal, was quite intentionally curt. Even if he and Thranduil had come a step closer to seeing eye to eye, that did not diminish the toll his time in the elves' dungeons had taken on him.

"Please, follow me." Thranduil stood, quite graceful in his height; even Thorin had to admire the elegant poise he carried himself with. He seemed to glide when he walked to the door and down the halls. A few flights of stairs took the two up to a beautifully decorated wing. It became apparent to Thorin that this was Thranduil's own abode within the palace walls.

"You have very... elven taste," he commented in passing, noting the way the lanterns hung delicately from intricate golden hooks from the white wooden walls.

Thranduil smiled. "Was that a compliment?"

"If you want to take it that way." Despite himself, a smirk had formed on Thorin's face.

"Thank you, then." Thranduil drew aside a white silk curtain to reveal a large tub carved from marble into the floor. Thorin couldn't help but admire the embroidered auburn leaves, and the flowers sewn with golden thread. "Through here."

Silently he set up a folded screen away from the bath, pointing Thorin toward it. "For your privacy."

Thorin thanked him and walked toward the screen. Before he hid behind it he watched Thranduil as he pulled down the large wooden faucet and took great trouble in pulling a braided rope that hung from the ceiling. After a few failed tries, it became apparent to Thorin that the elf was getting nowhere. He took his boots off and walked over beside Thranduil to the cord, giving it a great tug. Hot water began to immediately gush from the faucet and into the tub. The concept dawned on Thorin, and he lowered his eyebrows at Thranduil, surprised. "You don't do this yourself, do you?"

"Not regularly, no." Thranduil couldn't hide a slight embarrassment at the fact that Thorin had so quickly taken notice.

"Then why do it for me?"

"I didn't want to bother the chambermaids at such an irregular hour." The excuse came to Thranduil with ease. "Besides, you may consider it my apology for my recent treatment of you. I must admit I've been less than kind."

A short silence passed, and the two merely stared at one another.

"Go ready yourself," Thranduil said, dismissing him back to the screen. "This will be full shortly."

Thranduil obeyed wordlessly, confused as he walked behind the screen and began disrobing. He heaped his clothes on the floor, afraid that the heavy iron links would topple the light wooden screen.

Thranduil rolled up his sleeves and knelt beside the bath, mixing oil and fragrant soap into the rushing water. When it was nearly to the brim of the huge tub, he gave all of his weight to the cord once more, relieved that it was (barely) enough to pull and stop the water. From a large burlap sack at the side of the room, be pulled two large handfuls of dried herbs and flower buds and threw them into the swirling pool. He made sure he was on the other side of the wall of curtains before he raised his voice. "It's ready for you."

He heard no words of response, and walked away to find some fresh clothes for Thorin.

Thorin walked slowly to the bath, admiring the curtains that separated the bath from the larger lounge. The air was unusually cold on his skin; it had been some time since he had gotten an opportunity to change his clothes. He walked slowly into the water down a few steps carved into the structure of the tub. The hot water on his legs sent a warm jolt up through his body, making his hair stand on end. He immersed himself as if he were swimming, and resurfaced at the other end of the bath. He sat and sighed as he sank into the steaming water, leaning his head back to look at the ceiling.

It had been too long since he had felt this relaxed.

A sudden wave of guilt threw him off balance, and he lifted his head upright. His men were still in the keep, and here he was, soaking in what must be the best bath he had gotten in months. "Thranduil?"

No response. He elevated his voice a little.

"Thranduil, are you there?"

The room remained silent. He sighed and began scrubbing the grime from his skin with a large sponge. It was amazing to him how he had forgotten the color of his skin for the dark and the dirt around him; it seemed so magnificently pale, even in a blush from the friction of a good wash. He lathered his hair with soap, taking quite awhile to do so for the length and thickness of it. When he was sure he had gotten all of it, he laid back and let his head slide under the water to rinse. For some time, he lingered.

When he resurfaced, he heard shuffling from behind the screen, and a series of high pitched clinks that he recognized as his armor being moved. A soft grunt and a thud told him they had been dropped, and his ears perked when he heard a hushed conversation.

"Thorin?" The voice was Thranduil's.

He sat upright, remembering his earlier worry. "Are my men still in your jail?"

Thranduil sent the basket containing Thorin's dirty clothes away to be washed with the chambermaid he had brought with him. "No. I've arranged other lodgings for them, in the guests' wing. It's one of the reasons I was away for so long." He appeared from behind the large screen, carrying a large pile of clothes and making a visible effort to avert his eyes.

"Once again, my apologies for invading your privacy. I've brought some clothes for you, and a few towels. They're in several sizes; I was not sure what would fit you."

Thorin thanked him dismissively, reluctantly stepping out of the bath and drying himself off. The towels were warm and exceedingly soft; he buried his face in one before drying his hair. He took notice of Thranduil's slender silhouette as he exited through the silk curtains. The room felt as if it were in a warmer light than before as he dressed himself in the clothes Thranduil had brought him. The shortest pants were the only ones that weren't too long, even if they were a little snug around his thighs. A shirt and a long silk overcoat not unlike Thranduil's covered it, trailing gracefully behind him. Droplets of water still clung to his hair as he walked into the lounge.

Thranduil was waiting for him, relaxed on a sofa before a coffee table laden with plates of food. He sat up, beckoning for Thorin to join him.

"This is more than enough for the two of us to share, if you wish to stay and have supper with me. If you'd rather join your company, they're probably just sitting down. The decision is yours."

Thorin sat opposite Thranduil, waiting for him to eat first in an attempt at awkward politeness.

"Please," Thranduil said, as if in reply. "You needn't try to be so humble. It's unlike you."

Thorin stood up indignantly, bumping the wooden table hard enough to send a bottle of wine to spill on the magnificent floor. "And you would know what I'm like? Assumptive, for a king."

He did not hide the anger from his voice.

Thranduil picked up the wine, pouring himself a glass from it and not worrying himself over the forming stain. He took a sip and sighed, hardening his gaze at Thorin.

"I assume nothing, Oakenshield. I know that you are quick to anger, and too proud for your own good. It prevents you from learning, and it ends in outbursts such as this one." He tilted his head to one side. "Hot headed, for a king."

Thorin glared, and Thranduil wanted to smile at his reaction to his own medicine. The Elvenking continued. "Your lack of temperance is the reason I imprisoned you to begin with. I could not expect you to listen to reason or compromise when you were locked in a vengeful state of mind brought on by your bruised ego."

"A decision made on angry impulse," Thorin retorted, eager to cut Thranduil just as deeply. "Tell me, Elvenking, do you often accuse others of your own faults?"

Thranduil sighed, motioning for him to sit back down. "I accuse you of nothing. I'm merely pointing out a weakness of yours and making an attempt at helping you, one king to another. At least, I intend for that to be the case."

"Is that supposed to mean something?"

"It means that I still intend to help you see your quest through. My offer still stands, but as I see it, you have only one option. Two, if that pride of yours decides to get in the way."

"And those are?"

"Your first and most obvious option is to take the assistance I offer, and reclaim your homeland. Your second is to turn me away and fail."

Thorin could only laugh. "You seriously think I'd have started this all without a plan? You underestimate me, Thranduil, and my company. I've enlisted the help of a theif to reclaim the Arkenstone, so while I thank you for your offer, I have no use for your men."

"Is that so? And which of your men, pray tell, is the theif? Is it the sage? One of the brothers? No, surely it's someone with the ability to move around quietly, and forgive me if I must mention the dwarves' difficulty with stealth. You forget that we elves have skills that your men do not, Oakenshield."

"You're wrong, Thranduil. And don't insult us, or our foresight."

A moment of silence passed, and Thranduil's eyes went wide with realization.

"The hobbit."

Thorin smiled. "The hobbit."

Thranduil stood, setting his wine down and walking to where Thorin sat. "I must repeat, then, that you are faced with the same options as before. If you do not accept my help, you will fail."

"You underestimate the skill of a hobbit, Thranduil."

"No, Thorin." He looked him in the eye. "I do not see how I can possibly underestimate the usefulness of a dead theif."

Thorin's eyes narrowed, questioning without demand.

"Your hobbit friend was slain at the gate as an intruder. I give you my condolences."


	4. Chapter 4

Thorin's eyes widened with disbelief, then with silent rage.

"You killed my theif."

His voice was subdued, nearly to the point of sounding calm, but Thranduil had no trouble detecting the venom that dripped from every word.

"You speak as if it were done by my hand, Thorin. I had no knowledge of the event until a guard handed me this ring and a contract, signed by both you and the hobbit." Thranduil drew the items from a pocket concealed in his sleeve near his wrist, handing them both to him without ceremony. Thorin did well not to snatch them, but was not conscious of the tension in his hands until the contract was crumpled into a tight wad and the ring was wearing an indent in his palm. He was seething.

Thranduil took note of it, and took care with his words, lest he infuriate him more. "The guard responsible for the incident has been reprimanded, and has shown significant remorse for killing an innocent." He placed his hand on Thorin's shoulder, in an attempt to give some form of comfort. "Again, I offer you my apologi-"

His sentence was cut short by a quick gasp as Thorin clutched his wrist and threw him over the table to topple into the untouched trays of food. Thranduil rolled gracelessly onto the floor between the table and his own sofa, clutching a spot on his hip that had smashed into the corner of the solid oak table. He took a quick moment to right himself onto a knee, and wasted no time deciding that this was not going to fly.

He snapped into a standing position, flipping the table lengthwise and sending it flying across the room. Jolting forward, he delivered a swift blow to the side of Thorin's face and stepped hard on the back of the couch, flipping it backward and sending Thorin to topple with it. He deftly jumped over the toppled sofa and landed with a knee on either side of Thorin's arms, so that he was straddling him with an elbow aimed directly at his throat. He leaned in close, putting more than a little sharp pressure on Thorin's airway.

"Little boy, you haven't the barest idea how easily I could have you killed." He hissed into his ear, taking a bit of pressure from his neck so he could breathe, but not speak.

"I am showing you mercy, Thorin Oakenshield, and in exchange for that I expect you to at least show some thanks. I lowered myself for you, and it has proven a mistake. You may be royalty where you're from, but dead titles have no meaning here. Be grateful for the consideration you've been given, dwarf, because you've proven to us both you were never worthy of it."

He waited a long moment for his words to sink in. When Thorin broke eye contact and his stare softened into sadness, Thranduil released him. The Elvenking stood and retreived his now broken crown from the ground, wordlessly carrying its pieces before him as he strode toward the door. Thorin righted the sofa so he would have a place to sit, and watched as Thranduil spoke with two guards waiting outside. One of them shot a tense look at Thorin, but relaxed as Thranduil spoke to him, out of Thorin's range of hearing. The door was slammed shut when the king left the room, and a latch closed, loudly.

Thranduil left his chambers and strode down the stairs, crown in hand toward the only jeweler who he knew could repair it. To say he was furious at Thorin for damaging it was an understatement; the crown had been passed down through generations of Elven kings, and had only ever suffered mild wear from time. It had never truly been broken, and now he knew it would never be the same. He handed it over to the experienced crafter, explaining the situation but not the cause of the damage. When he departed, a smug, satisfied smile spread across his face that Thorin was locked in his room. Imprisoned again, and now in debt to him; things couldn't be more in Thranduil's favor.

He decided to give Thorin some time to himself to think, or destroy his room, or whatever he would do; at this point, Thranduil simply didn't care. He only made certain he couldn't run away, and as he strode to his armory, he decided that that was the only truly important part.

-  
The guard had changed twice by the time Thranduil returned to his chambers. High noon was approaching, and he had been forced to sleep in a guest room the night before. Several surprised looks were shot at his forehead, but of course no one outright mentioned that he was wearing the wrong crown. None would dare question a king's choice in attire unless it was directly their business, and those who needed to know the reason Thranduil was wearing the black circlet, knew. The onyx crown was adorned with only three clear, shimmering jewels in the middle, symbolic of Faenor's Silmarils that had become an unofficial icon for the elves. He was not tremendously surprised when some in-the-know elves showed subtle concern at seeing that particular circlet, though.

It was the one to be worn by the Elvenking during battle.

Which Thranduil thought was somewhat appropriate, given the current circumstances. He had even chosen his attire in a darker color to match it; his robes flowed around his waist and flared at the wrists in bold swaths of jet black silk, hemmed and embroidered with dazzling white stars to match the circlet. It had not been his choice to quarrel with Thorin, but he had not been the one to initiate it. Besides, it was not in his best interest to lose; he had both wealth and a future ally at stake here.

He unlatched the lock and threw the doors open, leaving them to the guards to close as he strode silently to his bed. He was completely unsurprised to find Thorin sleeping there, in the same attire as yesterday. He stopped for a few moments, the room silent but for the leaves and cicadas humming in the warm breeze outside. He stepped silently around the bed, examining Thorin in his sleep. He was quite beautiful when he wasn't making a mess of things. The white overcoat had been cast aside, and his shirt was open to reveal a black-haired chest rising and falling with each breath the dwarf drew.  
And look at that, Thranduil mused in his head. A lovely trinket.

An iron key hung from a piece of weathered twine tied around Thorin's neck. It took little effort for Thranduil to cut the string and steal the key without waking him. He laughed to himself as he slipped it into his breast pocket, discarding the sliced twine. It looked as if it were important, and if it was, Thranduil would certainly be finding out soon.

"Wake up."

Thorin simply snored through his command. Rolling his eyes, Thranduil suspected a more practical take would be necessary. He sat on the bed next to where Thorin lay and leaned down, resting his hands at either side of Thorin's head. He lowered his head so their faces were a mere foot apart, and raised his voice.

"Wake. Up."

Thorin jolted upright, accidentally headbutting Thranduil square in the nose. Both of them cried out in surprise, then pain when their faces collided, hard. Thranduil's hands flew up to his now bleeding nose, and he looked upon Thorin to retaliate until he noticed the dwarf's split lip. When they made eye contact, he couldn't help but laugh at the situation.

"An eye for an eye."

Thorin merely growled in half-awake agony, wiping his chin and sighing when he noted the blood on his hand. Thranduil wiped his own blood away with a fresh kercheif, leaning his head back to stop the bleeding. He stood, peering at Thorin.

"Get dressed, and come with me. We have much to discuss."

Thorin glared at him, sitting upright and putting pressure on his throbbing lip. Wordlessly he complied, buttoning his shirt and putting the neat robe on over it. Thranduil smirked when he actually looked at Thorin in that outfit; he was far less imposing, and with his dark mane and angular features contrasting with the off-white silk, he looked rather like a shaved cat.

_My friend,_ he mused to himself. _Elven clothes do not suit you in the slightest._

He lead him past yesterday's table (now set upright and devoid of any remnants of their quarrel) and into the small, more private parlor that Thranduil often used to review requests and pen letters. Over the large desk it was well lit, but the rest of the room was more dim. When Thorin entered the room Thranduil shut the door behind them and motioned for the dwarf to have a seat.

He complied silently, waiting for Thranduil to speak. He was not eager to offer an apology for his reaction yesterday. Under his order or not, one of Thranduil's guards killed Bilbo, and his quest had taken a serious blow for it. It was no concern of his what lost treasure lie in the castle, at least that Thranduil wanted, and that the Elvenking had tried to shift Thorin's one purposeful journey into an errand for some pretty trinkets was nothing short of insulting. He watched Thranduil cross the small room, taking note of his choice in clothing. "Trying the imposing look, King Thranduil?"

The elf shot him a poisonous glance. "Indeed, all the better to compliment your attire." He placed his hands on Thorin's armrests and leaned in. "Tell me where you draw your inspiration, did you see a wet lion whose head had been dipped in ink?"

Thorin started to rise from his seat, and Thranduil put a silent hand up to stop him. He knew exactly how unfair that snide comment had been. After all, it was Thranduil who chose that outfit for him. But he had broken his crown and spat his hospitality back into his face, and the arrogant dwarf deserved a taste of his own foot.

Thranduil drew a breath, straightening his robes and beginning to pace slowly to and fro across the room. "Let us not entertain such a useless feud any longer, Oakenshield. I have no desire to fight with you, but I cannot conceal the fact that you have offended me. I tried to show you my hospitality, and you threw it in my face, as you did the assistance I offered you. We have already discussed the matter of your grandfather's theft, and I was under the impression we had come to a..."

Thorin looked at Thranduil as if he were listening, but he could not pay attention to his words. He knew exactly what had happened between himself and Thranduil; he had run over the situations numerous times in his head the night before, and knew that he had been offended. Though it was not necessarily his goal to make an enemy out of Thranduil, he would be fully prepared for things to go sour. He wanted only to escape and carry on with his quest, but this damned elf was making it near impossible.

"It would be wise to listen to what I have to say, Oakenshield." Thranduil had stopped dead in front of him when he realized that Thorin had simply not been listening.

"My apologies," he said offhandedly. "Please continue."

Thranduil remained silent, raising his chin and looking down at Thorin in thought.

"No."

"I'm sorry?"

"No. I'm finished playing your childish games, Thorin. Frankly, they've become boring."

He opened the door once more, walking back into his chambers and taking off his robe. He hung it up on a wall hook and motioned for Thorin to come closer. He clenched his fists beside him, hearing a few knuckles crack.

"If you do not want to settle this like kings," his voiced lowered. "We will settle this like men."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: sorry for the inconsistent timing, working two jobs only leaves so much free time. I hope you're all enjoying this so far; this next chapter is the first of many to earn this fic its M rating. Thanks for reading!

Thranduil readied himself for a brawl, taking a light stance with his feet apart and his fists raised before his chest. He did not truly want to fight Thorin, but he did not know of any other way to let him even the score. Perhaps a physical approach would translate better in the mind of a dwarf.  
Thorin stood, quite hesitant. Thranduil could only stare at him, motionless.

"What are you waiting for, Thorin? Hit me."

The dwarf stepped toward the Elvenking, his posture still relaxed. He was perfectly aware of what was going on here, but he didn't know just what it was that Thranduil was up to. For a long moment, he only met his glare, thinking to himself. It was possible that this was a trap, and that the second he struck a blow to the elf, he'd be in the custody of his guard. He couldn't possibly be trying to allow Thorin to deliver his comeuppance through a blow to the jaw. No; he'd have to pay a price far more dear than a bruised face if he ever hoped to make up for what he did.

Or rather, failed to do.

"What is it, dwarf?" Thranduil spat the words as if they were poison, having become tired of their little stalemate. "Are you as afraid of me as your grandfather was of that orc?"  
Thorin's eyes widened in disbelief. An enraged snarl formed on his face.

"Oh, what was his name...," Thranduil hummed, feigning innocence. "Azog the Defiler."

Thorin growled, moving forward with heavy steps. "You dare mention the death of my grandfather, your friend, to mock me. I'll show you the meaning of fear!"  
Thorin forced Thranduil's hands down to his sides and punched him as hard as he could right in his smug, perfect cheekbone.  
The elf cried out in pain as his head snapped to the side. He fell to the floor, only to be forced to his feet again by the collar of his robe. Thorin smashed his body against the wall behind them, pinning him by the neck.

Thorin leaned in close, snarling, so that he might hear him. "You may be a reigning king, Thranduil, but you forget that I am royalty too and that you are severely outmatched. Do not provoke me if you do not want me to demonstrate what power is."

Thranduil smiled, ignoring the hot blood running down his jaw and laughing through his words. He leaned forward, his face nearly touching Thorin's. "Rather cocky, aren't we?"

Thorin growled and swung him around, throwing him to crash against a table, face first. Thranduil landed at the edge, falling so that he was bent over it. Before he could right himself, Thorin had pinned him in position with one strong hand forcing his neck into the wooden top and another holding his wrists together behind his back.

"No, Thranduil. You started this, and I intend to finish it."

"Finish this?" Thranduil's voice was forced through the pressure on his throat. It was hard to breathe. "Tell me, how do you intend to finish this if there's nothing you can do?"  
It was apparent that they had reached another standstill. Thorin had him pinned, but once he let him go he knew Thranduil would have the upper hand. A frustrated sigh escaped through flared nostrils, and as if to drive it home that Thranduil was trapped, he forced his hips forward against his backside.

Thranduil's eyes widened, and he could only laugh. "Is that your plan, then, Oakenshield?"

"What?"

"A somewhat unconventional way to end a dispute, don't you think?"

"I don't know what you're-" Thorin's words were cut off when he quickly became aware of a throbbing pain in his crotch. He looked down, and clear as day was a bulge inside his trousers and pressed firmly against the Elvenking's buttocks. He smiled at his rage-boner, sickly delighted at its timing.  
How convenient.

Though his rational mind hadn't left him. Even considering this was extremely dishonorable, and the quickest way to be blacklisted in almost any society. He shook his head to himself. His knuckles had gone white from restraining Thranduil, but he showed almost no resistance. He removed some pressure from Thranduil's neck, about to release him.

"So you are afraid of me, then?" Thranduil intentionally provoked him this time, wanting the fued to be over with. If this would settle his debt to Thorin, so be it. "Do it, Thorin!"

Thorin jammed his head back onto the table, folding himself over Thranduil. He growled into his ear, "I don't need your consent."

He removed the hand that bound Thranduil's wrists and used it to free his aching cock. Quickly he lifted his robe over his back and tore his pants down to his pale knees. He paused for a moment, wondering over the smooth, pearly skin that covered Thranduil's round ass. He smirked. If it was perfect now, it wouldn't be for long.  
His eyes scanned the scene quickly for something to lubricate himself with, but to no avail. He cursed that it would be not only uncomfortable for him, but painful for Thranduil. Not that the elf was in any position to bitch; not thirty seconds ago did he literally ask Thorin for it. He sighed and shoved a knee between Thranduil's legs, forcing them apart.

He paused, noticing the elf's heavier breathing.

"What are you waiting for, Oakenshield?"

He positioned himself at Thranduil's entrance, slowly shoving himself inside. Thranduil groaned in pain, and Thorin tried to move back. He was too tight for any real movement, and the pressure was too much for Thorin to be comfortable, either. He forced himself back and forward again, to no real avail. He paused, remaining inside Thranduil, who now squirmed (rather deliciously) beneath him. He took a breath and moved his hips back once more, surprised to find the movement somewhat easier.

A realization hit him that he head made Thranduil bleed, but perhaps that was for the better. He started slow, placing both hands to firmly grasp Thranduil's hips, and began a steady rhythm. Thranduil remained silent, but his knuckles, white from grasping the sides of the table, betrayed the pain he was in.

Thranduil bit the inside of his lip, going faster and deeper. He stared down, aiming for a straighter path as he built speed. A short groan escaped his lips, but he bit it back when he heard a low moan.

Thranduil's lips parted in a prolonged sigh; pleasure had begun to seep into pain, and they mixed into one. He clenched his teeth and saw stars behind his eyelids when Thorin hit a place inside him he had not known existed.

Again the dwarf's cock pounded the sensitive spot, and Thranduil moaned loudly. "Deeper," he rasped, and Thranduil obeyed.  
Low groans and the clapping of flesh filled the air around them. Thorin's hands wandered up to the sides of Thranduil's waist. He leaned down to say something to Thranduil, but forgot completely what it was when he felt the beginning of his release. A tight coil was wound in the small of his back, and his body felt as if it were on fire. He went rigid with his orgasm, delaying a loud moan.

For a long moment he laid over Thranduil, recomposing himself and taking his sensitive organ out of the elf. Thranduil's breathing was still quick, and Thorin had to lean in when he heard him murmer something.

"What was that?"

"This is uncomfortable," Thranduil repeated, trying to get up. Thorin allowed it this time, smirking when the Elvenking stumbled to regain his balance, pants still around his ankles and cock rock-hard. Thranduil collapsed into a sofa as Thorin put his pants back on.

The elf ran a hand through his dissheveled, pale hair and leaned his head back with his eyes closed. So close, he thought. Too bad. It had been some time.  
He did not know what to make of the warm mouth that suddenly enclosed his erection, only able to grip what must be the back of Thorin's head and moan.

Thorin thought to give him at least some consolation for tolerating that, and sought to finish Thranduil off completely. Besides, he had not expected to like having the elf panting underneath him so much. He lowered his head over Thranduil's cock, acclimating himself to the taste before gently sucking on his length.

Thranduil opened his eyes, sighing and smiling at the deep pleasure he took not only in the feeling of his impending release, but at the sight of Thorin kneeling before him. A wave of pleasure rushed through his body, and his hips shot forward as he got up quickly and spat out a window. A long moment passed before Thranduil caught his breath.

The elf righted his clothing and his hair as best he could with his hands, standing once more on weakened feet. Thorin turned around, wiping his mouth before looking up to face Thranduil.

A sudden wave of guilt passed over him as he looked upon Thranduil's ruined poise and the dried blood covering his left cheek. He was silenced at the thought of what he had just done.

Standing straight again, Thranduil turned to face Thorin as he straightened his crown. His voice was calm and measured.

"So then, are we properly even?"


End file.
